


made of steel, made of stone

by Aenaria



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: And a good time was had by all, Cunnilingus, F/M, May is National Masturbation Month after all, Meri is a horrible instigator, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), inspired by photoshoots that are practically pornographic even when the subject is fully clothed, time to put on a show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 13:37:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6958807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aenaria/pseuds/Aenaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You want I should put on a show for you?”</p>
<p>Darcy doesn’t mean to ask Steve for a performance.  It’s not like either of them are shy, not exactly, but even after months of dating there are still certain things that they haven’t experienced with each other.  But then opportunity knocks, Steve’s willing to oblige, and Darcy’s in for one hell of a show.</p>
<p>Keeping their hands to themselves has never been so much fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	made of steel, made of stone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Merideath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merideath/gifts).



> This fic all began with a photo. You’ve probably seen it by now (and if you haven’t - what are you waiting for? http://aenariasbookshelf.tumblr.com/post/144703429304/rembrandtswife-dougiepoynters-chris-evans More specifically, the top photo in that set). At which point dear Meri, that horrible, horrible enabler, commented to me that we totally need fic based on that photo. Then the muse got in on the act, discovered that May is National Masturbation Month, and then suddenly I’ve got a bit of plotless fluffy smut on my hands inspired by that glorious picture above. So basically, this is a bit of belated birthday fic for Meri that I hope that the rest of you enjoy too.
> 
> Thanks to dizzy-redhead, Mcgregorswench, and Meri for beta and handholding throughout the writing process, and Melifair and Rembrandtswife for helping me out with coming up with a summary (my damned Achilles’ heel when it comes to writing).
> 
> As for the title, if you recognize where exactly it’s from (and if you’re an 80s baby like me or any older there’s a far better chance that you do), I’m gonna point you in Meri’s direction and say that the awful pun is entirely her fault.
> 
> *mwah* Happy birthday, hon. :D

Darcy looks down at her phone, checking for a text message that still hasn’t shown up, as she makes her way down one of the quieter halls in the Avengers’ compound.  This time of day, that in between hour when it’s late in the afternoon but not quite evening yet, not in the late spring, there’s hardly anyone to be found.  This isn’t a bad thing, she knows.  It means that, at least for right now, everything is all right with the world.  A skeleton crew of analysts is keeping their eyes open for anything that catches their attention, but any number of Avengers and affiliates are away on leave or vacation, on call in case of emergencies but otherwise enjoying some of the quiet.

 

A few of the Avengers had just arrived back at the compound earlier that day, actually, after a two week long international mission that was classified.  Technically.  Sometimes the compound was more like a high school when it came to how quickly gossip spread amongst the ranks, and some of the stranger - and, admittedly, the funnier - details of the mission had even made their way into the lab where she and Jane have set up shop when they’re at the compound.

 

Apparently no one is supposed to ask Sam about the frogs.

 

It’s this gossip that keeps Darcy subtle as she makes her way down the hallway towards Steve’s quarters.  It’s not a secret that they’ve been dating, but they don’t make it a habit of flashing their relationship around, not during work hours at least.  Still, she’d texted Steve that she’d stop by his place once he’d finally gotten out of the hours of debriefings, give him a proper welcome home.  Even if all that welcome home consisted of was Netflix and pizza on the couch.

 

Darcy scans her key card over the reader next to his door, a little light turning green and the lock unlatching with a soft click.  She lets herself in, spotting a pair of boots that have been kicked off to one side of the hallway.  Definitely home then.  She pauses a moment to remove her own boots, and pads around a corner in stocking feet into the living area, coming to a stop when she spots Steve lying on the oversized dark leather couch there.

 

Totally unfair.  He’s been away on that same classified job, which he’d described to her as a mission from hell involving mercenaries and a rain forest that’s more swamp than anything else, spending a few days with socks that just wouldn’t dry out, and yet...yet he comes back looking none the worse for wear, unbruised and whole, with only a light scruff of beard to testify to his time away from civilization.

 

God, she really just wants to eat him up with a spoon when he looks like that.  Like he’s some ancient Roman statue, carved out of solid stone and brought to vibrant, colorfully painted life.

 

He had to have been exhausted, however, if he couldn’t even make it to the bed.  Instead he was splayed out on the couch, a balled up blue sweater under his head, hands resting loosely on his torso and moving up and down with every slow breath.  He looks so peaceful, and she regrets that she’s going to wake him up.

 

Well, almost.

 

(and really, she’s never been able to sneak up on him before, what makes her think that she could do so now?)

 

Darcy’s about to announce her presence, but she snaps her mouth shut when Steve begins to lightly trail his hands up his chest.  They make slow, random patterns, pressing into his skin through the blue shirt he’s wearing.  Her mouth goes suddenly dry, and she digs her nails into her palms, hard enough that she leaves little crescent shaped marks behind.  When one of Steve’s hands lands on the button of his jeans, tapping the disc with a small clink of metal, it’s impossible for Darcy to hold back the gasp.  He’s not fully hard, not yet, but the line of his growing erection is there, just beginning to press up against the heavy weight of the denim.  One long finger traces over the erection before trailing up to the button once more. 

 

Steve’s eyes fly open and dart over to her, just as his hands still and settle on his stomach.  “Hi,” he breathes.

 

Darcy smiles, though it feels strange on her face.  “Don’t stop on my account,” she blurts out, wrapping an arm around her waist as she leans against the door frame.

 

She’s not even sure what she’s asking at this point, but for a moment there he looked entirely relaxed, at peace, and she would give anything to see that again.  It’s so rare for Steve to get that these days (even if he denies it and says that everything’s fine), and far be it from her to take that away from him.  And really, they’ve been dating for months now.  It’s not like she hasn’t seen him in the altogether before and had some damn great sex along the way too.  But this request, during what could be such a private moment, has the potential to become something entirely different.

 

But his face is still lax, almost inquisitive.  It’s a far cry from the image of revulsion that’s been building up in her mind.  “You want I should put on a show for you?” Steve asks, propping himself up on an elbow and staring directly at her.

 

Darcy shrugs.  She’s blushing like mad now; can feel the blood rushing to her cheeks.  Her tongue doesn’t seem to be listening to her brain, which is yelling to shut up to spare both of them the inevitable embarrassment, however, and says, “You could put those skills from the USO days to good use.  I’ve seen the pictures of you in those booty shorts.”

 

Steve just laughs softly, looking down somewhere at his feet instead of directly at her.  “I think if I did the kind of show that you’re referring to the whole company would have been arrested about three minutes in.”

 

“Scandalizing all the little old grandmas from Oklahoma, no doubt.”  She cocks her head, giving him a look that’s full of fondness.  Not many of the people she’s dated have indulged her when she gets especially silly, so that Steve’s played along with her is an automatic check mark in his favor.  “Seriously though, you don’t have to.”

 

“No, I…”  Now’s it’s Steve’s turn to flush, spreading across his cheeks and down his neck.  But he doesn’t look offended, or bothered...well, maybe bothered in a different way, because if anything his erection seems to have just grown since they’ve been talking.  “I’m game if you are,” he says, blue eyes looking up at Darcy through thick, dark lashes.   Steve reclines back on the sweater once more, arching his eyebrows in invitation.

 

She straightens up and watches as Steve strokes his hands up and down his torso once more, slowly, deliberately.  He uses short, blunt nails to scratch against the defined muscles of his abdomen which makes his back arch, lifting off of the dark leather of the couch.  “I didn’t realize you were going to be stopping by,” he says, flicking his eyes at her again.

 

Darcy pushes herself off of the door frame and saunters over, feeling warm and wound up even though he hasn’t even laid a finger on her yet.  “I did text you,” she says, grinning.  “Couple of times, as a matter of fact.”  She settles down on the arm of the couch by Steve’s feet.  The arm is wide enough that it proves a comfortable perch to look down at him, that wonderful expanse of body laid out so beautifully in front of her.  “Said that Jane was getting absorbed in science-land again, so I was gonna be late getting here and giving you a proper welcome home.”  She purses her lips, holding back the amusement that’s about to bubble forth.  “You left your phone on airplane mode again, didn’t you?”

 

Steve’s hands freeze on his stomach, and he looks up at the ceiling.  And while she can’t quite see it, Darcy can imagine full well that consternation that’s wrinkling his brow.  “...maybe,” he mumbles.

 

This time Darcy does giggle, nudging his sock clad feet with hers.  Steve adjusts so that his head’s more propped up against the opposite arm now, and gives her an indulgent grin.  “You’re stalling,” she says around a mouth full of laughter.

 

He gives her another arch look, laden with challenge, then he reaches to pop open the button of his jeans and slides the zipper down, squirming slightly so the teeth don’t catch on any sensitized skin.  Darcy sucks in some air as the prickles of arousal settle in her stomach.  

 

It’s easier to see his erection this way, pushing eagerly against the heather grey boxer briefs.  And she’d love to reach out and touch it, keep stroking until she feels it start to grow in her hands.  But this is Steve’s show, his performance, and she’s going to follow his lead.  He presses the palm of his hand against his dick, rubbing it firmly, and his head tilts back against the armrest.  His eyes flutter shut, long lashes dark against his cheek as the rubbing shifts into lightly trailing fingers.

 

Darcy allows herself to slump against the back of the couch, feeling the leather stick to her skin slightly through her t-shirt, but giving her the perfect angle to look down at Steve.  Still, she squirms on the couch arm, trying to ease the heat that’s building between her legs.  This is probably the most turned on she’s ever been in her entire life, and no one’s laid a finger on her yet.  She squeezes her thighs together, feeling the growing dampness there.

 

Steve’s hands push his shirt up, revealing an expanse of pale, muscled stomach.  His skin looks soft, and she wonders if it looked the same way before the serum took hold and transformed him into the man she’s seeing before her now.

 

(They’ve talked about it, in hushed whispers in the dark as sweat cools on their bodies, about how Steve still sees himself as that skinny little guy getting his ass handed to him in those Brooklyn back alleys.  How every now and then he’ll catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror and be surprised by his own reflection.  Darcy can’t even imagine what that must be like, but she reassures him that no matter what body he has, it’s the person inside of it that she really likes.)

 

He runs his hands back down his stomach until they hit the boxer briefs’ waistband.  Two fingers trail along the band, and Darcy can see the sudden tenseness that’s in his arms.  “You okay?” she asks quietly.

 

“Yeah,” Steve says on an exhaled breath, eyes still closed and tilted up towards the ceiling.  He palms his cock again through the fabric, pressing down firmly, fingers dancing over the head outlined there.  Hips squirm against the leather, making little squeaking noises, and his toes curl, digging into the cushions.  Then he reaches for the waistband and carefully pushes it down his hips, taking the jeans with them, until he’s fully exposed, and making Darcy let out a whimper of her own.

 

Maybe it’s shallow of her, but she really does think Steve’s got a gorgeous cock.  Big enough to give her a bit of a stretch, dark pink and flushed full of blood where it springs up against his stomach, brownish curls crinkling around the base of it.  It makes her mouth go dry every time, and she hopes that Steve can hear just how appreciative she is of it.  

 

He wraps his hand around the shaft and pumps once, twice, building up a slow rhythm.  On the downstroke Steve pulls the foreskin back, revealing a head that’s an even darker pink than the rest of it.  

 

Darcy fists her hands in her skirt, nails scraping against the bare skin of her upper thighs.  She’s lucky the back of the sofa is there, otherwise she’s convinced she’d be in a puddle on the floor right about now.  The wetness between her legs is even more so now, and it’s getting harder for her not to bury her fingers there, just to relieve some of that coiling tightness within her.

 

The palm of Steve’s opposite hand rubs directly over his cockhead, causing a small whine to break past his lips.  His hips thrust up convulsively, and Darcy watches as his hand seems to grip himself even tighter than before.  When he pulls his hand back a small bead of precome bubbles out, which gives the hand that’s still pumping just enough slick to make it even better.

 

‘Fuck it,’ Darcy thinks.  The day’s warm enough that she hadn’t needed to wear leggings under her loose skirt, so it’s all too easy to slide the fabric up her thighs.  She relaxes further against the back of the couch, keeping Steve directly in her sights without falling over.  She presses her fingers over the gusset of her panties, the fabric already damp and warm to the touch, and she sighs lightly.  It’s good, but it’s not enough.  So Darcy wiggles her hand beneath the waist of her panties, finding bare skin, and strokes the tip of one finger over her clit.  It’s just enough to take the edge off and send those little shudders down her back.

 

Steve is still stroking his cock, the opposite hand wrapped tightly around the base.  And while he doesn’t stop with the stroking, Darcy spots the exact moment the rhythm changes slightly, slowing down as his head tilts forward a bit.  His nostrils flare, inhaling deeply, chest expanding with the sudden movement.  Then Steve’s eyes snap open and he looks directly at her, red mouth trying to form words that can’t seem to move past his lips.  His eyes move down to where her hand is buried between her legs, and it’s almost like his brain gives out on him, mouth gone slack with what could possibly be awe but is probably just extreme horniness instead, Darcy knows.  He squeezes the base of his cock hard, making it twitch and another droplet of precome drip down it.

 

Darcy just grins slowly, touching her tongue to the outer corner of her lips.  She runs her fingers over her cunt again, spreading her own wetness out, sliding just the tip of her middle finger inside of her.  And she knows full well that Steve can clearly see her hand moving beneath the fabric, can smell just how aroused she is with those heightened senses of his, and it’s turning him on even more.  “You gonna come for me?” she asks slyly.

 

Steve chuckles ruefully, though it’s a lot breathier than his usual laugh.  “Yeah.  Keep that up and it’s coming sooner than you’d think.”

 

“Well?  What are you waiting for?”  Darcy gives her clit a couple of rough flicks with her thumb, making her moan as the growing heat sparks through her limbs.

 

“Shit,” Steve hisses out, his hand picking up speed on his dick once more.  He begins to thrust up into his clenched fist, jeans slipping even lower down his hips.  His other hand fists the edge of his dark blue shirt, knuckles digging into his skin and giving him another sensation to add to the whole mix.  Darcy is certain she can see the thick veins lining his cock pulse and twitch as his fingers twist around it on the upstroke, and she swallows roughly.

 

Then, Steve groans loudly through clenched teeth as his back arches, come spilling out onto the planes of his abdomen.  His hand doesn’t stop moving, stroking as another spurt of come drips down over his skin.  Darcy’s positively entranced, however, and her own hand stops moving, watching as his entire body moves through the orgasm, and it’s enough to make her shudder again.  Eventually he stills, slumping back against the leather, hands coming to rest on his stomach without any regards for the mess there.  It takes a bit longer for his breathing to slow down, which is impressive for someone with as good a lung capacity as Steve’s got.

 

“I feel like I should applaud,” Darcy says, extricating her hand and subtly trying to wipe her fingers off on her thigh.

 

Steve leans up a bit, giving her a look complete with unamused eyebrows and pursed lips.  But then he rolls himself up to a sitting position, and then into a kneeling one, bringing him close enough for Darcy to touch.  Before she can reach out, though, he cups her face with slightly sticky hands and brings her in for a kiss, deep and open mouthed, tongue flicking against her teeth.  Darcy moans into Steve’s mouth, feeling like everything’s right with the world again.

 

Before she can reach for his shirt to pull it off and begin her own investigation of his skin, Steve wraps his arms around Darcy’s hips and tosses them back on the couch.  Darcy gasps sharply at the sudden movement.  Her arms flail in the air for a moment until one hand lands on the back of the couch and the other one on the opposite arm.  She looks down to see her knees braced on the cushions, and Steve’s face pretty much right between them.

 

Okay, she can totally get on board with this idea.

 

Darcy nods down at him, which is all the permission Steve needs to reach up and rip her panties off (they were a pretty pair, but not a favorite one, so she’ll suck up the loss, especially given what’s coming) and fold her skirt back until it’s around her waist and well out of the way.  He adjusts his grip and pulls her forward a little bit more, until she can feel his nose nudging up against the folds of her cunt.  

 

The first touch of his tongue on her clit, light and flickering, makes her sigh.  He traces over her folds next, up one and down the other, repeating the action a few times.  Darcy whimpers, reaching up to rub her fingers over one of her nipples, adding to the sensations building up in her pussy.  

 

Steve darts his tongue inside her, finding more moisture there and spreading it up to her clit again.  Darcy runs her hand through his hair and then grips hard, pulling his face even closer to her.  And she’d swear that she can feel him smirk against her skin, even if that’s just her brain making up what it wishes it were feeling.  

 

She could draw this out, to not give in to the arousal that’s winding higher and higher inside of her just yet.  She could dance on the edge of it, twisting and turning on Steve’s mouth until she’s not even sure what time is anymore.  And she knows Steve would oblige her.  But honestly?  She’s been on the edge ever since she walked into his quarters; now she just wants a little bit of satisfaction.

 

Darcy tugs gently at Steve’s hair, guiding his mouth back towards her clit.  She’s close enough that it won’t take much to set her off at this point, and Steve’s skilled enough that he’ll get her there fast.  He nods, the prickles of his hair brushing against her inner thighs, and sucks her clit between his lips.  His hands tighten on her ass, providing that extra pressure that’s just oh so good.

 

Her breathing is getting faster, shallower, sweat prickling on her forehead and the back of her neck, but Darcy’s too absorbed in what Steve’s doing to her to worry about it.  Her blood’s practically on fire anyway; breathing is only a secondary concern then.  There’s a slight scrape of his teeth along the clit’s hood, followed up by another sucking kiss there.  When he firms up the tip of his tongue and flicks that right at the center of that hard bead over and over again, it’s enough to tip Darcy over the edge, the pressure swelling up and then bursting out of her with a sharp cry, flooding her limbs with that tingling warmth that leaves her shuddering.

 

When she can move again with any sort of purpose, Darcy slumps back against Steve’s suddenly upraised knees, his thighs providing her with a perfect backrest.  She looks down at him, still between her thighs, large hands cupping her hips and a satisfied grin on his face that’s covered in her juices.  “Welcome home,” she says with a grin of her own, panting as she runs a hand over the jeans that he’s still wearing.

  
“Yeah,” Steve says, giving her a bright and sunny smile that she knows is all for her.  “Welcome home.”


End file.
